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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24311086">New York Blues</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaOfBones/pseuds/SeaOfBones'>SeaOfBones</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Humor, I Think Captain America Is Flirting With Me, M/M, Musical References, Post-Avengers (2012), Pre-Relationship, Prompt Fill, Tony Stark Is A Hot Mess</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:40:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,121</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24311086</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaOfBones/pseuds/SeaOfBones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony has insomnia, and Steve has a question about his taste in music.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>New York Blues</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramsay_baggins/gifts">ramsay_baggins</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you to laydeemayhem and thenewdarling for beta-ing this for me!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tony had assumed he’d have the tower’s gym to himself at five in the morning. To pound away his insomnia under the bright white lights, blasting AC/DC, the room stretching into infinity in the two wall-length mirrors. But no. In had come Captain Fucking America in a baggy white t-shirt and grey sweatpants, looking just as surprised to see him.</p><p>“You’re up early,” Steve noted, crossing to the nearest treadmill.</p><p>“Or late,” Tony replied.</p><p>“I thought you were supposed to be resting,” Steve said, glancing pointedly at Tony’s reactor, gleaming blue from beneath his black vest.</p><p>Tony rolled his eyes. Tony was definitely supposed to be resting, instead of pushing the reactor to its limit. He could feel it even at a light jog. His heart wasn’t <em>actually</em> pounding against the arc reactor, it physically <em>couldn’t</em> be, but it sure fucking felt like it. Especially when Steve Rogers was around.</p><p>Tony needed to rest. Or, he told himself, he needed a tune-up.</p><p>“Remind me, Steve,” Tony said. “<em>Who</em> is the expert on this technology, again?”</p><p>Steve docked his water bottle in the next treadmill over. He looked unimpressed in the mirror, all boy-scout-let-me-help-you-ma’am seriousness. “You’ve got to look after yourself, Tony. I’m… concerned.”</p><p>Oh, <em>concerned</em>. Tony kept jogging, panting as he spoke. “Well, maybe you could <em>concern</em> yourself with finding any other treadmill in this empty gym.”</p><p>Steve sighed, and started to jog. His feet pounded the treadmill in light, bouncing steps, like a boxer’s. Tony wasn’t even going to try to keep pace. Clint had accidentally blasted himself across the room the first time he’d used one of Tony’s tuned-up treadmills. <em>Rogers Mode</em>, Tony had called it. Faster than human. Clint was fast, but he wasn’t fifty miles an hour fast.</p><p>He’d modded them from the tread tracks he used to test cars. <em>I was bored</em>, he’d said, to brush off a grateful Steve. Tony had known that sometimes, you just needed to run as fast as you could, push your body as far as it could go.</p><p>“I know how it feels,” Steve said. Steadily, blonde hair bouncing, without breaking pace. “To feel like your body is holding you back. I did a lot of stupid things before I got the serum.”</p><p>“Well, let me know if you find any <em>more</em> of that supersoldier serum, then,” Tony sniped.</p><p>“There’s stretching yourself and then there’s hurting yourself, Tony,” Steve warned. “Make sure you know which you’re doing.”</p><p>Every mental picture Tony had of Captain America came from a baseball card, until Fury had dragged him out of the ice. He’d hoped he would hate him. He’d hoped he’d be a hypocrite, a false idol, a great big middle finger to Howard Stark.</p><p>But he was every golden boy poster child rolled in to one. Hand-on-shoulder, serious eyes, you-can-talk-to-me. Rescuing kittens from trees, helping old ladies cross the road, smiling even after the photographs were taken. Maybe Tony did hate him, after all.</p><p>He rolled his eyes pointedly. “Thanks for the advice, Peter Perfect.”</p><p>Tony had wanted to think that nobody could be all they seemed, that every act of charity started as a tax write-off, but it turned out that was just him.</p><p>“…I’ve been listening to the list of albums you gave me,” Steve said evenly, as if Tony wasn’t running his mouth.</p><p>“…and?” Tony asked, trying to sound very cool and not at all interested in what Steve Rogers thought of his mixtapes.</p><p>“And I was wondering why you stopped in the eighties,” Steve continued.</p><p>Tony turned down the speed of his treadmill so he could talk louder. “Oh, so Ragtime Rogers thinks <em>I</em> have old taste?”</p><p>Steve gave a dry smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. That was what Tony hadn’t expected. That Scout Leader America would have a sense of humour.</p><p>“That’s the thing, Tony,” Steve said. “Nobody was making ragtime in nineteen-forty. It was twenty, thirty years out of date. So, if we’re in 2012, and <em>Back In Black</em> came out in…”</p><p>“1980,” Tony admitted.</p><p>“New York blues might be old,” Steve continued “But when I went on ice…”</p><p>Tony smirked, despite himself. “Are you saying I’m not <em>down with the kids</em>, Rogers?”</p><p>“Not at <em>all</em>, Tony,” Steve replied. “I’m just saying, if you’re going to make comments about me playing jazz standards in the jet, Ella Fitzgerald was still recording when <em>Back In Black</em> came out. She hadn’t even released <em>The Best Is Yet To Come</em> yet.”</p><p>“So, <em>was</em> the best yet to come?” Tony asked, accidentally catching Steve’s broad smile in the mirror.</p><p>“I haven’t gotten there yet,” Steve grinned. “Still a lot to catch up on, as you keep reminding me.” He went quiet, but he’d slowed. Was Captain America… embarrassed? “I was actually wondering if you’d want to…”</p><p>Tony cut him off before he could finish in earnest. “Jarvis,” he called. “Play, uh…”</p><p>For all he’d given Steve his music, with Steve being so eager to learn, he hadn’t even thought to look into what Steve had liked. Very Tony Stark of him.</p><p>“<em>Nice Work If You Can Get It</em> by Ella Fitzgerald, 1983,” Jarvis supplied.</p><p>“Right,” Tony replied.</p><p>Tony’s jog came to a halt. His crashing guitars melted away, replaced with crooning horns and lively piano.</p><p>“…I stopped after the eighties because that’s when I… stopped,” Tony said, stepping off the treadmill. His tongue kept turning. “I just stopped. When my father died, when I took over Stark Industries… I thought I was everyone I was ever going to be.” He flicked the arc reactor with his thumb. “Took another twenty years to realise that wasn’t true.”</p><p>Steve slowed to a walk. “Tony…” he said.</p><p>Tony blinked, then widened his eyes. “Wow, I <em>am</em> sleep deprived,” he said, brushing his words away with his hand. He hurriedly grabbed his towel as Steve stepped off the treadmill. “Forget I said anything, Rogers. Gym’s all yours, I’m going to take some horse tranquilisers and fall unconscious for thirty-six hours.”</p><p>“<em>Tony</em>,” Steve repeated. His voice firm, the hand on Tony’s shoulder even firmer. Something that sounded like a trombone serenaded them from every corner of the gym. Tony wanted to stand here, but he also very much wanted to leave immediately.</p><p>“…Get some sleep,” Steve said quietly. “I’ll be here in the morning.”</p><p>He took his hand from Tony’s shoulder, slowly. Tony started to walk.</p><p>"<em>Technically</em>, it's already the morning." But he stopped at the door, taking one last look back at Steve. “...Steve,” Tony said, with rare uncertainty. “…Guess you aren’t the only one with time to make up for, huh?”</p><p>Steve smiled, and – did Steve Rogers just wink at him? “Guess I’m not, Tony,” Steve replied. “Guess I’m not.”</p>
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